


you're every word, you're every line (you're everything)

by lettersfromnowhere



Series: Just Haven’t Met You Yet [5]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: 5+1, College AU, F/M, I guess it's half timing (and the other half's luck)-verse, I have no idea what's going on here tbh, The golf cart incident, high school AU (kind of?), unjustifiable amounts of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-04 17:37:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17308943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettersfromnowhere/pseuds/lettersfromnowhere
Summary: Relationships are hard - but sometimes the difficult moments make the best stories.(Five dates that went south and the one that didn't - Yet ANOTHER "I guess it's half timing" oneshot.)





	you're every word, you're every line (you're everything)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [star_munches](https://archiveofourown.org/users/star_munches/gifts), [interabang](https://archiveofourown.org/users/interabang/gifts).



> There are now three (3) people who have expressed enthusiasm for this series and I adore all of them with all of my heart. It is both for them and for purposes of emotional catharsis that I am writing this slight trainwreck of a 5+1. I'm not going to lie - this is a mess, but I kind of love it. So I hope you guys will too. 
> 
> Gifted to @the_masked_hero and @interabang because I nearly didn't post this and their encouragement was a huge part of the reason that I decided to. Also, the Disneyland and ice skating sections were based on prompts from interabang, so thank you for that! 
> 
> NOTE: the first and last sections of this assume that the reader is familiar with the rest of the series but can be read as stand-alones. Also, this takes its title from a different Michael Bublé song than all of the other works in this series because I'm running out of "Just Haven't Met You Yet" lyrics to use. Oops...

  1. **Golf Cart**



 

Meeting one’s girlfriend’s parents was supposed to be nerve-wracking – Peter had watched enough rom-coms in his day (whether he’d admit to it or not was another matter) to be entirely aware of that. He _thought_ he’d mentally prepared himself, binge-watching every “meet the parents” movie scene he could find. He’d painstakingly thought through everything Gamora had ever told him about her father, attempting to do come up with a foolproof means of avoiding his bad side. But this was one test, he learned, that he couldn’t study for.

 

“He’s not going to take it well,” Gamora warned Peter, all but white-knuckling his arm the moment he stepped through their doorway (a position he couldn’t claim not to appreciate).

 

“Relaaax,” he said in place of a greeting. “I got this.”

 

“Yeah, you think that,” Gamora said, looking worrisomely pale and vaguely nauseous, “until you meet him. And then, I promise you, you will realize just how profoundly you  _don’t_ ‘got this.’”

 

“Wow. Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

 

“What?” Gamora shook her head. “You at least deserve a proper warning!”

 

“How bad could he possib-“ Peter started, freezing almost immediately. Gamora’s father positively _dwarfed_ him, and his expression was anything but welcoming.

 

“Gamora,” he started slowly, closer to growling than speaking. Peter had to repress a shudder. “Who’ve you brought home this time?”

 

“Good morning,” Gamora muttered, staring at the floor and rather unsure what else to say. Peter nearly turned tail and ran; if _Gamora_  was scared speechless, he was quite likely going to be disemboweled within minutes.

 

“Answer the question, Gamora.” Her father scanned Peter disapprovingly, his misapprobation growing with each second that Gamora didn’t respond. “I won’t ask again.”

 

“Thisismyboyfriendpeter,” Gamora blurted out, half-panicked. Her father’s expression didn’t change; Peter could only hope that was a good sign.

 

“Your boyfriend. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Peter.” He drew out the syllables, turning a simple phrase threatening with a vaguely terrifying smile. “I guess I knew this day would eventually come, but…I’m in a good mood, so I’ll give you a ten-second head start.”

 

“Ten sec-wait, _what?”_ Peter sputtered. “I’m sorry, I don’t believe I follow-“

 

“Peter.” Gamora grabbed his shoulders abruptly. “Run.”

 

He nodded dumbly. “Right.” Peter obediently bolted as if being pursued by a bear (which, given the circumstances, was not altogether inaccurate). “This that golf cart thing you told me about?”

 

“In my defense, I warned you three months ago!” Gamora shouted after him. “So don’t die!”

 

“I’ll try!” Peter called over the sound of an engine revving. Gamora rested her forehead against her palm and shook her head.

 

“There’s no way this is ending well,” she muttered to herself, watching as Peter frantically bolted across the street, her father’s prized golf cart in hot pursuit.

 

Later, sitting on the porch swing at his grandfather’s house and icing a sprained ankle (somehow he’d evaded the golf cart but not the pothole two streets up), Peter admitted that he’d been quite convinced of the inevitability of his incoming demise. “But,” he told Gamora, eyes sparkling in spite of it all, “imagine what my teammates back in Mississippi are going to think when they hear this!”

 

“Probably that you made it up to cover for the fact that you fell down stairs or something,” she replied fondly.

 

“Worth it.”

 

“Perhaps.” She settled her head against his chest, looking out to the horizon as it changed purplish to orange.

 

 

  1. **Disneyland**



  
“This is _precisely_ why I hate theme parks.” Gamora stared ahead huffily. “I can’t understand why anyone would want to stand in li-“

 

“You live in Pasadena and you’ve never been to Disneyland!” Peter protested. “That’s like, the eighth deadly sin or something-“

 

“The eighth deadly sin?” Gamora raised a single eyebrow. “Well, forgive me for not wanting to wait in line with hordes of screaming children for two hours for a roller coaster I’ll probably just throw up on…”

 

“You loved grad night at Knowhere,” Peter insisted. “It isn’t that different!”

 

“Peter, Knowhere is in a small town in Connecticut,” Gamora sighed. “It is _not_ the biggest tourist trap in the western United States. There are _not_ eight million people in any given line, and there are _not_ crowds you have to be trained in karate to shove through. The overlap is almost nonexistent.”

 

“Is this all because you’re mad that I made us wear matching ears?” Peter asked, tweaking a sequined ear of the Mickey Mouse ear headband he’d insisted she wear.

 

“I will admit that I do not agree with this kind of public display of our relationship status,” Gamora said crossly. “But-“

 

“Oh, so you don’t want anyone to know you’re here with me,” Peter teased. “Well. I see how it is.” He pulled her to a corner where the crush of the crowd was less dense and looped his arms around her waist.

 

“Peter. No.” Gamora gave him her iciest glare; he didn’t seem to notice as he inched closer. She braced herself as he bent, dipping her backwards to kiss her with typical Peter Quill theatricality. Shutting her eyes against his forwardness and the flush in her cheeks, she shoved him off abruptly. Peter looked rather dumbfounded for a moment, as if unsure what he’d done.

 

“Uh, wh-“

 

“You know I hate public displays of affection!” Gamora snapped. “Why would you ever think-“

 

"Well, crap. Uh, I’m sorry, I didn’t-“

 

“I don’t want to hear excuses, Peter,” she said shortly. “Let’s just forget this and _not do it again.”_

“Right!” he looked at the ceiling, the floor, the racks of t-shirts in the store they’d stumbled into – anywhere but at her. “Uh, where do you want to go next?”

 

“It’s hot. Something inside,” she requested flatly. Both were completely aware that neither had forgotten as they’d promised to, but they wouldn’t press the issue.

 

“Haunted mansion it is,” Peter decided, and they went off, all too glad to leave the site of the incident.

 

Peter tried to move on as she’d asked, but Gamora would barely look at him. Even in the longest lines she’d stare at her phone or the surroundings before she’d ever say a word to him, and even he – the nosiest person he knew – knew not to press it.

 

For a time, that is, before impatience overcame him and he had to know.

 

“Look, I’m sorry that I didn’t listen to you when you said you didn’t want to do anything…couple-y…in public,” Peter started. “And I know you don’t want to talk about it but this is awkward and it’s killing me to have to not fix it when I did something wrong-“

 

“Peter,” Gamora said tiredly. “That’s enough. Apology accepted. Don’t do it again.”

 

“I won’t but I want to make things right instead of just…acting like they didn’t happen,” Peter explained. “Why did that particular thing upset you?”

 

“Having a father who threatens all of your boyfriends with vehicular manslaughter teaches a person to hide this stuff, for one,” Gamora huffed. “And…I don’t know, I guess I don’t like the attention. Our relationship is _ours,_ not all of these other people’s. They don’t need to see that we’re together.”

 

“I get that. I do. Totally understand and respect your opinions and…feelings,” Peter said, going for smooth and coming up with awkward. “But sometimes, when a guy is dating the most beautiful woman ever to grace the earth with her presence, he’s, uh, overcome, and, uh…”

 

Gamora couldn’t help but laugh. “You have no boundaries or judgement, but you have to the single biggest dork I have ever met, I’ll give you that.”

 

“Uh, so, does that mean we’re…all good?” Peter asked, his overly hopeful expression almost puppylike.

 

“Well, you seem remorseful enough, so as long as you don’t ever kiss me in front of thousands of people again...sure.”

 

Taking her hand, Peter felt a weight lift off his shoulders even with the distinct knowledge that he’d be in hot water were he ever to accidentally overstep again.

_Note to self,_  he thought.  _PDA is usually far more of a problem than I think it will be. Remember that._

  1. **Double Date**



“Since when do you bring a plus-one on your first date?” Nebula grumbled. “I don’t think that should be a thing. Remind me why Quill thought it was necessary to invite me on-“

 

“Shut up and go with it,” Gamora cut her off.

 

“If you people make out in front of me even one time, I will throw a large object at Quill’s face, and that is a promise,” Nebula said, tapping her foot impatiently as the movie theater concession stand’s line crept forward.

 

“Please try not to sulk, Nebula,” Gamora said, glaring at her sister imploringly. “This needs to go well-“

 

“Yeah, so I can tell the story of how your stupid high school selves almost murdered your relationship before it even started at your wedding,” Nebula cackled, stepping to the front of the line. “Largest container you have, except with no popcorn, and these.” She passed a package of Junior Mints and a wad of cash over the counter to the cashier, who looked profoundly confused but complied.

 

“What’s that for?” Gamora asked with a vaguely worried expression.

 

“It serves various purposes. I can shove my face in it if I don’t want to watch you two making out, I can throw it at Quill if I catch him trying to make out with you, and I can vomit in it if worst comes to worst and I accidentally _do_ see you two making out,” Nebula explained in unwavering deadpan. Gamora couldn't tell whether she was serious or not; that worried her more than she cared to admit.

 

“That’s…thorough,” Gamora commented, rather at a loss for words.

           

“What is?” Peter asked, approaching from behind and looping his arms around Gamora’s waist from behind the velvet rope marking off the concession stand line.

 

“My sister’s plan to avoid…um. Potential awkwardness caused by the romantic nature of this event.”

 

“You really know how to suck the romance out of a thing,” Peter teased.

 

“You really know how to suck the patience out of a person,” Gamora shot back. Nebula looked rather nauseous already as they walked off to the theater in which the dumb road trip comedy they’d insisted on seeing (Nebula had protested – it had a 37% online approval rating – but, as per the usual, they wouldn’t listen).

 

“If I have to use this,” Nebula warned both of them as they chose their seats, “I will be _extremely displeased.”_

She had a sinking feeling that that would only spur them on.

 

 

  1. **Drive-In**



“I get that this is a cute idea and all,” Gamora started, absentmindedly sloshing the ice in her empty drink around, “but why’d you pick _this_ movie?”

 

“This place shows, like, three movies a day. It was either this, a kids’ movie about talking animals that I figured you’d call ‘brainless’, or one of those slasher flicks I know you can’t stand,” Peter explained. “This was the only one that wouldn’t kill your brain cells.”

 

“Peter, you know how I feel about musicals,” Gamora sighed.

 

“What do you mean? They’re great!” Peter protested. “It’s like real life, but with _songs.”_

“Which is precisely why I do not enjoy them,” Gamora said, unimpressed.

 

“Okay, you say that, but deep down I know you love music,” Peter countered. “So why the vendetta against musicals?”

 

“I am mildly impressed that you know what ‘vendetta’ means,” Gamora replied, her face entirely blank, “but anyway. I dislike their lack of realism.”

 

“Reality isn’t _fun_ , though,” Peter shot back. “And it doesn’t have nearly enough songs.”

 

“Why do I get a sinking feeling that you consider those words to live by?”

 

“They _are_ , so I don’t see what your problem is.” Peter leaned back against the back of the truck bed, pulling a blanket over his shoulders against the night’s chill. “Now do you need my extra body heat or not?”

 

“Fine.” Gamora leaned against his chest with a huff, more for show than anything. “I can deal with the suspect choice of movie, but I swear, if you try to steal the blanket, I will run you over with your own truck.”

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Peter chuckled, drawing her closer for maximum heat conservation. “If it gets you to cuddle with me-“

 

“We are _not_ cuddling!” Gamora snapped.

 

“You’re using my chest as a pillow, Gamora,” Peter pointed out. “What else does one call that?”

 

“Mutually beneficial distribution of finite resources,” Gamora replied, not missing a beat, in her signature deadpan.

 

“Oh? And what would said ‘finite resource’ be?” Peter teased.

 

“Heat. Duh.”

  
“Surprised you need it when you’re hot enough for the both of us,” Peter said, casually wrapping the blanket more tightly around Gamora’s lightly-shaking arms.

 

“You little…”

 

“Notice that I talked through the entire first musical number?” Peter asked after a brief lull. A glance at the screen revealed the protagonists bumping into each other on a very public sidewalk as the song’s final chords faded.

  
“Hm. Appreciated,” Gamora said, “just like that pun was not.”

  
“It’s called a compromise. You take the pun in exchange for three minutes of glorious song and dance that you don’t have to watch.” She swore she could _feel_ Peter’s smug grin.

 

That wouldn’t do. “Still won’t admit that we’re cuddling,” she muttered peevishly.

 

  1. **Weak Ankles**



Gamora stifled a most disgusting urge to giggle ( _giggle –_ the very _word_ was vapid in the extreme) as her boyfriend clung to the ice rink wall in sheer terror. “Given your athletic skills, I expected to see you on your feet at least 30% of this evening,” she called from the center, where she’d parked herself to watch a show that even the teenager in $700 worth of Lululemon contorting herself as she executed spin after spin in a corner she’d all but claimed for her own couldn’t top.

 

“I have weak ankles,” Peter called back rather pathetically, his feet slipping in a whir of tarnished silver metal as he clung to the boards for dear life.

 

“Need some help?” she asked, eyes crinkling despite her best efforts.

 

“Yeah. That’d be great,” Peter said, trying to clamor up from his current position with knees on the ice and arms over the boards, supporting his entire body weight. Shaking her head fondly, Gamora skated over to pull him into place.

  
“The trick is to bend your knees if you think you’re going to fall,” she explained, dragging him along as she took off. “Don’t flail your arms. It’ll make you lose balance quicker.”

 

“How do you know so much about ice skating?” Peter muttered, still three seconds from another fall.

 

“I tried and failed at about a million sports as a kid, including figure skating. Didn’t stick with it, but I remember the most basic things,” Gamora explained. “It’s kind of like playing the piano. If your parents made you learn ‘Chopsticks’ as a kid, you’ll still be able play it thirty years later.”

 

“Yeah, uh, none of my football coaches ever told us to do ankle conditioning,” Peter said. “They roll like _that.”_

“I can tell,” Gamora replied flatly. “Need I remind you what happened to your ankle when you met my father?”

 

“Yeah, I was doing pretty well without thinking about that. So thanks for the reminder,” Peter grumbled.

 

“Well, I suppose it’s not your fault that you have weak ankles.”

 

“Well, as long as you keep holding my hand…”

**+1**

It had been six years. Six years of waiting for all of this to be over, for the miles between them to disappear. He’d kept careful count: four years of college, three years of grad school on Gamora’s part and three years learning the ropes as air traffic controller at a tiny regional airport on Peter’s.

 

This, the day of her graduation, would determine (in Peter’s drama-prone mind) nearly everything. There was no room for error. He fidgeted with the velvet box in his pocket while sitting in the baking sun at Gamora’s graduation ceremony, rehearsing the speech he’d written and rewritten in his head as names he didn’t recognize or care to were called. _You are the love of my life – there is no life for me if there is no life with you. If you give me the chance, I will spend my whole life try-_

“Sir.” A disgruntled blonde woman beside him elbowed Peter’s side. “Please stop mumbling. I won’t be able to hear my daughter’s name called.”

 

“I was saying that _out loud?”_ Peter blurted out, his face reddening. “’m so sorry, I didn’t realize that I was actually talking. I’m going over a proposal speech and-“

 

“Ohhh.” The woman nodded sympathetically. “Say no more about it, then. Good luck.”

 

“Thanks.” Peter gulped. “I’m gonna need it.” He went back to his speech rehearsal – this time making sure to keep it entirely mental. But he knew it wouldn’t do anything. His brain wouldn’t remember to function properly in the heat of the moment. No speech would stick – he’d speak from the heart whether he wanted to or not.

 

So he watched, and clapped at the right times, and tried to remember to breathe, because there were moments when the enormity of what he was about to do hit him and he’d forget that anything existed outside of her, and them, and the future he hoped today would set in place. And when all was said and done he took her into his arms, because it was over, and they were here and now, and whatever happened next would happen together.

 

They’d come so far – from tutor and failing pupil dancing around their feelings at seventeen to where they stood now at twenty-five, fully-fledged adults with the rest of their lives ahead of them. Eight years ago he never would have imagined this, leading her to his car, blasting her favorite music as they sped down the highway, all the windows down to combat the muggy June heat. He didn’t tell Gamora where they were going – he’d memorized the directions, too afraid of the GPS giving away the mystery of the destination to take any chances – and she didn’t ask. It was as if she knew that asking would end the moment before it even began. The afternoon sun became ever more watery as they approached the sign announcing their crossing from Massachusetts into Connecticut.

 

“Peter…” Gamora started, but she couldn’t bring herself to finish. She knew, now, at least where they were going. But she didn’t have it in her to ask why.

“Yeah?” he replied, turning to her with a soft, if terrified, expression.

 

“It’s…nothing. Never mind.”

 

They sat in silence, save for the soft music drifting through the car’s speakers. Even as Peter pulled into the parking lot in which they’d started off every day for four years of their lives, they said nothing. Gamora simply followed him, fully aware that wherever he was taking her, he took her for good reason.

 

It amazed her sometimes – the way she’d learned to trust him with her very life. It was an odd feeling, one with which she was utterly unfamiliar, but she’d learned in the past eight years that, stupid as he could be, and questionable as his choices often were, he wanted what was best with her, and rightly trusted that she wanted what was best for him. She’d never have listened to a word out of his mouth back then (truth be told, she still didn’t), but now she followed him, not knowing where he was leading her, because she knew that he wouldn’t have come all this way not to be taking her to something she’d want to experience.

 

She’d known he had something planned but she could scarcely find words when she realized where they were.

 

**FLASHBACK**

**June 2018**

This was the last time things would ever be like this.

 

Leaning against the fence in a shaded corner above the bleachers, Gamora drank in every bit of the moment that she could. The distinct smell of sweaty spandex mingled with the bushes of jasmine planted opposite the stadium. The air felt thick in its humidity, hanging over the new graduates like a wet blanket. Thousands of students and their families talked and mingled below, but she tuned them out.

  
Six months ago, she hadn’t even imagined that she would want this. But here, in this moment, pretending not to see Peter staring at her (and trying not to let him catch her doing the same), she couldn’t imagine anything more _right._

This time, when she kissed him, she didn’t run. She stayed like she wished she had before. She stayed, and rested her forehead against his because this time she didn’t want to ever let go, and words she’d never imagined saying tumbled out like ice from the bottom of an empty cup.

 

“I love you,” he’d whispered, his hands shaking, because this was real and she was here and he couldn’t in his wildest dreams conjure up a more perfect moment.

 

She didn’t say it back. It would take time for her to get to that point and she hadn’t had enough to know if she could respond in kind. But she knew, someday, when she was ready, she would.

 

Months later, holding back tears as she stared at the careworn iPod Shuffle in her lap, she knew it was time to make good on her promise to herself.

 

**PRESENT**

“Recognize this spot?” Peter asked, his voice uncharacteristically shaky.

 

“This is where we ran off after graduation,” she said, fondly running her fingers along the links in the fence. “Why’d you bring me here?”

 

“Well, uh.” He jammed his hands into his pockets, staring at his feet. “I have a…business proposal.”

 

Gamora couldn’t help but glare at him bemusedly. “You brought me all the way to possibly the most important place in our relationship for a _business proposal?”_

“Well.  ‘Business proposal’ is probably not the right way to put it. I mean, without the business. It’s kind of business, I guess, but mostly I just have _proposal-_ proposal. I had a speech and everything. It was a good speech. I rewrote it four times. I guess-“

 

“So by ‘business proposal’ you mean-“

 

“Marriage. I mean marriage!” Peter blurted out, his face redder than the sunset with which he’d purposely timed their visit to coincide. “As in I dragged you all the way out here to ask you if you’ll…you know.”

 

“I don’t know,” Gamora replied, eyes shining – she knew – but set on dragging it out of him. “You still haven’t stated your ‘business proposal.’”

 

“Um.” He removed the ring box – its once-lush velvet now crushed and damp from his constant fiddling with it – from his pocket, trying to get to his knees gracefully rather than collapsing (which, with the gelatinous state of his legs, looked more than likely.) “Well, the speech is kind of out the window now, so I guess all there is left to do is ask…” He trailed off, his shaking hands making it all too difficult to open the box when it should have been simple. “So. Gamora. Will you make me the luckiest idiot this side of the Milky Way and agree to do the marriage thing?”

 

“Oh, _Peter,”_ she replied, trying and failing not to facepalm. “Of all the ways to ask someone to marry you…”

 

“Um. Is that a-“

 

“It’s a yes, you idiot. _Yes,_ I will agree to do the marriage thing.”

 

“Okay, good, because I was starting to think you were gonna say no, and then the drive back would be _really_ awkward because I’d be sobbing and driving at the same time and probably crash and-“

 

“Peter, can you please just put the ring on my finger already?” Gamora teased, biting her lip to fight off a few unruly tears. “I want to kiss you already.”

 

“I am never not down for that. So. One ring, coming right up,” he said, trying to sound smooth; as efforts were futile as the adrenaline had him speaking so quickly that he barely even knew what he was saying.

 

“Wrong finger,” Gamora reminded him. He glanced down, noticing he’d absentmindedly tried to place it on her index finger, hastily apologized (again, almost too quickly to be intelligible), corrected his mistake, and stood.

 

“Please just kiss me before the adrenaline makes me pass out,” he requested, nearly panting.

 

And so she did.

 

It seemed as if every time she kissed him here, it felt like the last time she ever would. But this time, though something felt final, she knew – at least subconsciously – that this was only the beginning.

 

The first time she’d kissed him, it’d been a reason to run. This time it was a promise to stay.

**Author's Note:**

> On geography: it wasn't mentioned in the original "Half Timing" but I decided that their high school was in Connecticut because I wanted Gamora to go to grad school at MIT (a reference to a friend who's an undergrad at MIT and wants to go to grad school at Caltech, where Gamora gets her undergrad degree in this 'verse - kind of a reversal) and I needed the place to be close enough to Cambridge, MA to be in driving distance.


End file.
